


Deracinate

by Corky559



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Draco is trying his best, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, he's still an asshole tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 02:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corky559/pseuds/Corky559
Summary: Draco Malfoy had always been told that the world would be his.  That whatever he wanted, he would get.  And until his first day of Hogwarts, that had been true.  Thinking about it now, it only seemed fitting.  He had wanted Potter then, and he wanted him now.  It wasn’t quite the same, but the comparison still stood.





	1. Deracinate

Deracinate - to isolate or alienate from a native or customary culture or environment. To pull up by the roots; uproot; extirpate; eradicate.

Draco Malfoy had always been told that the world would be his.  That whatever he wanted, he would get. And until his first day of Hogwarts, that had been true.  Thinking about it now, it only seemed fitting. He had wanted Potter then, and he wanted him now. It wasn’t _quite_ the same, but the comparison still stood.

And from that very first day, Potter had wanted nothing to do with him.  Nothing at all.

He had refused Draco’s hand on that first night of Hogwarts. Now, back in their final year of Hogwarts after betrayal and savings and hurt and pain and _war --_ Draco took a breath -- after all of that, it was no wonder that Potter wanted nothing to do with Draco or his lot.  

Potter wasn’t rude, but he wasn’t kind.  Draco should’ve known better than to expect something different.  But when Potter had testified at his trial, hope -- stupid, stupid hope -- had blossomed in his chest.  If Potter didn’t think he deserved to be in Azkaban then maybe this new life he had to build wouldn’t be automatically forfeit.  But they returned to school and Potter had ignored him. His eyes would pass over Draco as if he didn’t know him. Didn’t have _eight_ years of history with him.  Didn’t shape every aspect of Draco’s life for those past eight years.  Hadn’t responded to Draco so addictingly dynamic. Hadn’t carved out a part of himself into Draco’s chest.  It was as if he and the other returning students in Slytherin simply didn’t exist to Potter.

Potter’s eyes used to stray over to the Slytherin table habitually.  It was what made him such an easy target for Draco. The second they made eye contact, Draco could quirk an eyebrow, and Potter would already be working himself up into a fit of imagined slights.  

Draco can’t remember the last time Potter looked at him.  And, Merlin, wasn’t that pathetic. That he was still trying to win Potter’s attention. Eight years.  Eight years Draco had been fishing for this acknowledgement. This _approval._  

He frowned down at his plate and pushed his food around despondently.  Not exactly behavior fit for the only Malfoy heir, but no one was around to see it.  Only Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson had returned from their year, and they had refused to associate with him since the start of term. And all the younger years were too afraid.  Either of him or what associating with him would bring from other classmates. All the students gave him a wide berth.

It had been a long couple of months. Alone and ridiculed and abused.

He pushed his uneaten food away and stood to leave.  Having not really been paying attention for the last couple of minutes, he had no way of realizing that Potter and his lackeys were also heading to the doors.  Draco walked with his head down, the way he had been since he got here, fighting every instinct instilled in him. _Head up, Draco.  Never let anyone feel as if they are above you._ A voice annoyingly like his father’s filled his head.

He kept his head down and had just made it through the door when he felt his bag rip.  His body jerked with the force of the curse and he was whirled around as if he had been physically shoved.  His hand clamped over his cheek that was now throbbing with the bite of a stinging hex. He could feel his blood rushing through his veins, his head pounded with it. He was hyper aware of every breath entering his lungs then exiting. His hands shook and the tremor of it brushed the welt on his cheek.  Draco carefully brought his hand away, clenching it into a fist, and hissed in a pained breath as he bent to gather his scattered belongings.

“All right, Malfoy?” Draco looked up into green.  Piercing emerald eyes were watching him curiously.  Potter’s head was tilted, watching Draco’s reaction to the hex, as if waiting for him to throw a fit.  His face was free of the tension he carried for as long as Draco could remember. Potter’s hair was as messy as ever, and, as Draco watched, he brushed a hand through it.  He was always stupidly, annoyingly attractive.

Granger and Weasley had continued walking and were arguing at the bottom of the first flight of stairs.  They didn’t seem to notice that they had left Potter behind.

Draco cleared his throat.  “Fine. Just fine, Potter. Thank you,” he ground out.  He had no reason to be embarrassed. It wasn’t as if he had lost a duel.  Someone had cast a spell at his back. Of course he hadn’t--

“Someone just cursed you from behind.”

Draco heard Potter state the obvious and continued to gather his things as if he hadn’t spoken.  Potter, Draco was sure, could see the irony in Draco being taken unawares from behind after that incident in fourth year.  Draco stood up with his books and parchment all held haphazardly in his arms. He glanced up and saw Potter holding his Potions textbook.  

The cover had been torn off and the binding on it was more than a bit worse for wear.  It was better kept than some of the other books in his arms. Potter stared at it with his head cocked and his mouth slightly open as if in surprise.  Potter’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the book, then Draco, then back again.

“What--” Potter started to ask.  Draco snatched the book from him before he could ask.

“Don’t worry your pretty, little brain over it, Potter,” Draco said sounding the most like himself he had in two years.  “It’s just a text.” He made to walk towards the dungeons, but Potter grabbed his arm. And unless he wanted to recollect all his belongings, Draco couldn’t pull away.

Draco heaved a sigh. “What do you want, Potter?”  Even to his own ears, Draco sounded defeated.

“You should go to the hospital wing.  Your cheek is swollen.”

“Well it’s not quite so bad as your ego. So I think I’ll survive.”  Draco grimaced. Why could he never keep his mouth shut around Potter.  He felt Potter’s grip on his arm tighten for a second then let go. Draco stumbled a bit not realizing he had leant into the pressure.

“You’re absolutely right,” Potter bit out irately.  “I don’t know why I was worried. It’s just you.”

“Yes,” Draco hitched his shoulder and started down the steps. “Just me.”  His mouth curled in disgust. Just Draco the Death Eater. Just Draco the idiot.  Just Draco, who was always on the wrong side of things. Who couldn’t make the right choice if it punched him in the face.  Who could never seem to do anything right. In his parents’ eyes. In Potter’s eyes. In--

His jaw clenched at these thoughts. He didn’t have time to worry about this.  He had a Transfiguration essay due and reading in his pitiful Potions text. Draco readjusted his hold on his books and carefully continued down the stairs.  He heard footsteps and snippets of conversations as others started leaving the hall from dinner.

Focusing as he was on maintaining the balance of his load, he didn’t notice the eyes of a group of Hufflepuffs light up when they recognized him.  A hastily whispered tripping jinx tangled his feet, and he toppled down the rest of the flight of stairs. Everything in his hands went flying as Draco went arse over kettle down the stairs.  A gasp wrenched its way out of him as he felt his arm twinge. He landed hard at the bottom of the stairs, head cracking against the flagstones. His breaths came in sharp, shuddery gasps that caused his ribs to flare in shooting pain.  A hysterical giggle flew out of his mouth.

“You think this is funny, death eater?” One of the Hufflepuffs spat out.

Draco pressed his uninjured arm to his ribs.  Staring at the ceiling and breathing against the pain, he said nothing.

“What? Not going to go crying to daddy now? Oh right, because he’s finally where he belongs.  Where you should be, too.”

 _Where_ , Draco wanted to ask. _Six feet under?_ Instead, he bit his tongue.

Did Draco deserve to be dead for what he had done?  People seemed to think Azkaban at the very least. He hadn’t been cleared in the eyes of the people. He had escaped punishment.

If he didn’t respond the way they wanted him to, they would leave.  They would go to their common room and Draco could go to the hospital wing. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with his arm, and he didn’t know how to handle anything more than bruised bones.

Draco watched the ceiling swirl and felt like he was going to fall over.  But. But he was already laying down, wasn’t he? Did he have a concussion?

He didn’t know.  He didn’t know anything, anymore.  Hufflepuffs were supposed to be nice.  Draco wasn’t supposed to be suffering. And purebloods were supposed to be superior.  But Draco was injured. Hufflepuffs had caused it. And blood status meant nothing, now.  Another hysterical laugh was working its way into his throat. He just didn’t know anymore.

Draco tried sitting up and almost ended up horizontal again with the rush it sent to his head.  He slowly stood up and looked around at his school things. Someone had upended a bottle of ink on his half finished Transfiguration essay and it was soaking into the books beneath the parchment.  Any other assignments he had had been stamped on and torn. The thought of bending over to pick it all up sent a preemptive rush to his head. He sighed and left it all, bag included, on the floor and started his climb back up the stairs.

The hospital wing wasn’t exactly close to the dungeons, and he didn't want to get caught out by anyone else looking for a go at him.  He moved slowly trying not to agitate his ribs. He heaved a sigh at the thought of his walk and winced at the stretch of his lungs.  His shoes tapped clearly against the flagstones and he walked in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven't written anything in...God, it's been like 5 years since I've written anything for fun let alone public consumption. I'm trying to find my happy again and trying to find my love for writing. I miss thinking of something and having the urge to make it a story. I feel like I'm hecka rusty and that this is probably shit, but here you go. Feed back is welcome. Seriously I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing anymore, tell me how to be better.


	2. Solitudinarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Then, Potter nodded his head decisively and without a word, left as quickly as he had come. Draco let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and laid his head bonelessly exhausted and the day had only begun."

Solitudinarian - a person who seeks solitude; recluse.

The hospital wing was quiet when Draco entered the double doors.  Quiet and dark. He shifted uneasily when Madame Pomfrey wasn’t readily available.

“Um...Madame?” Draco called into the semi-darkness and took another step forward.  From what he could see in the low torchlight, the beds were empty. He started walking towards the back door when there was no answer.  With his hand still clutching his side, he made it about half way across the wing before needing to stop and catch his breath. His ribs were making it hard to breathe.  In fact, all he could manage were tiny, shallow breaths that made him feel like he was using more air than he was taking in. He needed to fill his lungs, but everytime he tried the air was punched back out of him with a grimace of pain.

He was leaning against one of the empty beds when Madame Pomfrey finally came out of the back room.

“Goodness!” she said, taking Draco in.  “What happened here?”

Draco gingerly sat down on the bed he had been leaning on.  “I, uh… I tripped and fell down the stairs to the dungeon,” he breathed.   Talking was becoming more difficult. Madame Pomfrey was waving her wand over him, casting diagnostic spells and whatnot.  His vision was going blurry around the edges and he tried to focus on what she was saying.

“Well, it looks like you sprained your wrist, and you have quite a few bruises.  And your ribs--”

Whatever his ribs were or weren’t, Draco wouldn’t know.  His vision had funneled and his ears were starting to ring.  The little gasps of air he was taking in sounded loudly in his head.  The room turned white and he knew nothing more as he fell unconscious.

***

Draco woke disoriented.  The bright walls of the infirmary were reflecting the light harshly against his eyes.  He scrubbed a hand over his face trying to wipe the remaining fatigue away. His hand froze over his cheek.  The welt from the stinging hex had been healed.

Grimacing, he thought about how the students that had cursed him wouldn’t like not seeing their handy work.  Ever since Draco’s return to school, he had kept the marks of the jinxes inflicted on him. Not as trophies of some pride he didn’t have, but to show those inflicting them that he knew.  He knew this is what he deserved. And he would bear it as they felt he should. It also helped that if he was already sporting some form of injury there was a reprieve in actively going after Draco.

But that was selfish, and he preferred to focus on the punishment aspect more.  Madame Pomfrey was bustling around the hospital wing and looked up when she heard him moving about.

“Mr. Malfoy.” She sounded stern.

Draco met her gaze head on with his chin up.  “Yes, Madame?”

She pursed her lips.  Squinting at him, she said, “I know a stinging hex when I see one.  And somehow I doubt the stairs did that.”

“I have no idea to what you are referring,” Draco said his most snide tone.  Gathering his wand from the bedside table, he stood. “Now, I really must be off. Thank you, Madame, for your time and efforts.”  

He hastily beat a retreat, refusing to look up at her as he left.  Casting a quick _tempus_ told Draco that he wouldn’t have enough time to eat breakfast if he wanted to gather his things.  If they were even still there. He continued on towards the dungeons. His heart sank when he saw all of his things gone.  Not a single item had been left behind. If the house-elves had gotten to it, they would’ve thought it was garbage from the state of it.  If his classmates had gotten to it… Who knew what happened to it? A quick _incendio_ would deal with it nicely, Draco was sure.

He took a bracing sigh.  Nothing for it, now. He would just have to explain to Professor Killian that he couldn’t finish his transfiguration essay.  That was a laugh. As if Professor Killian would trust a word that came out of Draco’s mouth. He had been “keeping an eye on” Draco since the first day of term.  Refusing to acknowledge him in class and, Draco was sure, begrudgingly giving him the grades he deserved. It was better than Professor Hellcrest’s outright mistrust in Defense, but not any easier to deal with.

Giving it up as a lost cause, Draco turned and made his way back towards the entrance and the Great Hall.  Perhaps breakfast would help. Unlikely, but perhaps. He walked in with his head down and could feel the stares of some of his classmates tracking him.  Goosebumps shivered down his arms and back.

At Slytherin table, he froze.  Sitting at his usual spot was his bag.  Mended and full of his things. He dove for it.  Digging through it he pulled out his essay. The ink had been siphoned off and it was definitely salvageable.  If he started now, he might be able to finish it. Ignoring the food and plates on the table, he laid out his parchment and start writing fervently.

He could still feel the stares on him, as he finished his essay.  Certainly not an Outstanding, but better than a Troll. Leaving the ink to dry, he hastily grabbed a scone before all the food disappeared.  

He was unsure of who would have been willing to gather his things without cursing them or ruining them further, let alone fixing them.  Maybe Pansy was finally willing to acknowledge the fact that they had been friends since they were children. Or, looking over at her ignoring him, maybe not.  Looking around the hall, Draco glanced up towards the Gryffindor table. His eyes subconsciously sought Potter at his usual spot at the end of the table.

Draco’s breath froze in his lungs.  Potter was staring at him.

Hastily breaking eye contact, he rolled up he essay and shoved it in his bag.  He took a few breaths and peeked back up. Potter was still staring at him. It didn’t seem malicious like the other students.  His face was relaxed and open and his eyes curious. Had he been watching Draco this whole time? Was he one of the many stares Draco had shivered under when he entered the hall?  Why the sudden interest?

Potter had spent all of term acting like Draco didn’t exist, and now, all of a sudden, he was watching.  If Potter suddenly felt the urge to start hexing Draco because he finally realized everyone else was, then Draco was absolutely, utterly fucked.  He could handle a couple of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seeking retribution for what the Dark Lord had done. But Potter was personal. Years of ridicule from Draco and trauma from Draco’s father would make this punishment specifically designed for Draco’s past transgressions.

The other students blamed Draco for what others did and what they thought Draco had done.  Potter knew exactly what Draco had done and exactly what kind of person Draco was. He knew better than anyone what Draco deserved as punishment for his crimes. He was always, annoyingly present whenever Draco made the wrong choices. Maybe this was why Potter had testified at his trial. To get the opportunity of retribution for himself.

Draco’s breaths were coming faster and faster.  If Potter started in on him, it would be open season for those who had been holding back.  Draco saw his own hands white-knuckled on the strap of his bag clench. His fingernails were digging into the palm of his hand and he _couldn’t breathe_.  He rushed out of the Great Hall and up the stairs towards Transfiguration.  There was a hidden alcove in the hallway before the classroom. If he could get there.  Could be surrounded -- protected -- on all sides, he might be able to breathe.

Draco dove behind the tapestry that hid the alcove from view.  Very few people knew about this spot. And half of the ones Draco had told about it were dead.  He laid his hands flat against the wall and leaned his weight on it. Pressing against the solid stone, he focused on the pressure and feel of it.  Tried to think of nothing but his hands flat against the wall and the breaths shuddering in and out of him. His fingers curled slightly as he tightened his muscles harder against the unrelenting stone.

He really needed to get this under control.  One look from Potter after months of being ignored.  One small thing that had differed from his perceived schedule and he had lost it.  Lost control. He couldn’t even make his body breathe correctly. He sucked in a large breath and held it.   _In four. Out eight._ He thought to himself.  One more big breath in. His lungs expanded, and after struggling to breathe last night, Draco held it in just to feel the full expanse of his lungs.

The whole breath came out in a choking, coughing exhale of shock when the tapestry hiding him was brushed aside and shut again before Draco's eyes could adjust to the sudden light.  Potter stared at him, green eyes practically glowing in the low light of the alcove. Draco saw Potter’s eyes trace his body.  The way Draco’s hands were still pushed harshly against the wall. How his back was curved to protect himself from anything and everything.  The deliberate way his feet were set shoulder length apart and planted firmly on the floor.

Draco could feel heat flooding his face at this unveiling of his vulnerability. Of his inability to function outside of what Draco felt was correct.  Draco stood up slightly, straightening his back. But he couldn’t make himself remove his hands from the stable surface of the wall.

Draco opened his mouth uncertain on what he would say, only that he had to say _something_. Anything to break this growing silence filled with whatever judgement Potter was ready to rain down upon him.  

Then, Potter nodded his head decisively and without a word, left as quickly as he had come.  Draco let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and laid his head bonelessly exhausted against the wall, between his hands. And the day had only begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not really sure what I'm doing. But even just writing this second chapter after getting some responses has reminded me of why I used to love writing. So hopefully, I'll keep it going to the point that I'll actually remember what I'm doing. And what is the general consensus on POV shift. 'Cause I was thinking of next chapter maybe being from Harry's POV???


	3. Busticate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV - Harry had been drifting since the end of the war. He had, in his mind, finished his only real purpose in life. And now he was just kind of...here.

Busticate - to break into pieces

Harry had been drifting since the end of the war.  He had, in his mind, finished his only real purpose in life.  And now he was just kind of...here. He had only come back to Hogwarts because Hermione and Ron had decided to.  He wouldn’t know what to do on his own.

Kingsley had mentioned that once he sat his NEWTs he would basically have a spot on the Aurors.  Harry had nodded and thanked him and felt nothing. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be an Auror anymore.  It had just seemed like the only option when he had decided. The only thing that might have helped him survive Voldemort.

And now Voldemort was dead, and Harry wasn’t.  And Harry hadn’t actually thought he would survive.  He had come to terms with that thought, and now here he was. Floating.

Should he be happy now?  He was relieved, but happy?  He just didn’t know. It’s not like much had changed.  He was still the center of all sorts of unwanted attention.  Still hailed as a hero for something forced upon him. Still a parentless orphan.  Still a little boy locked in a cupboard. Harry just wanted… Well, he didn’t  _ want  _ anything.  That was kind of the problem.

He glanced over at Ron and Hermione arguing over dinner.  He was happy for them. He really was. But-- But ever since they got together he had felt kind of invisible.  He knew if he said something to them, they would try to include him more. But they deserved to have this time.  The past eight years had been about Harry and his problems. It was high time they focused on themselves.

Instead of jumping into their conversation -- which always had a new tension to them -- Harry let his eyes drift over the Great Hall.  The other students had settled down for the most part by now. When Harry had shown up on the first night of term, the stares and whispers followed him for the night.  And the following month. Most of the upper years had settled down, as they had known him for years. The younger years still looked at him in awe and some in fear. 

His eyes caught a flash of white and he couldn’t help fixating on it.  Years of habit still unbroken. 

Malfoy sat alone at Slytherin table.  He was always alone these days. No one seemed to dare step close to him, even in his own house.  Malfoy was pushing his food around his plate, not looking up or actually eating any of it. His brow was furrowed and he looked pale.  Well, Harry thought, paler than normal. His pointy features seemed more prominent with his sallow, thin face.

As Harry watched, Malfoy heaved a great sigh and pushed his plate away.  Making a snap decision Harry, too, pushed his plate away and stood. Hermione and Ron were already standing, he suddenly realized.  Harry looked at them in surprise.

“Coming, mate?” Ron asked.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded.  Together they made their way to the doors.  Ron and Hermione had already picked up their argument and they walked a bit faster with the speed of their row.  Harry slowed his steps as Malfoy was approaching the door. His face was down and his hair fell to cover him. Harry had never seen Malfoy without his hair slicked back until this year.  It was a good look on him. Softened his pointiness and made him less severe. More approachable. But with these changes had come the others. Refusing to make eye contact. Never speaking in class.  Which was a relief at first, but Harry stupidly found himself missing Malfoy’s snark. Lost in his thoughts, Harry didn’t see the curse until it ripped a gasp out of Malfoy. Had someone just--

“Someone just cursed you from behind.”  Harry watched as a welt appeared on Malfoy’s pristine white cheek.  The red seemed so at odds with the rest of him that Harry couldn’t seem to process this.  Malfoy’s school things had been scattered, too. His bag had been ripped.

Ignoring Harry, Malfoy picked up his things.  Harry saw one of the books by his feet. He bent to pick it up.  The cover was gone and the binding was barely holding it together.  What was Malfoy doing with a book in this state of disrepair? 

“What,” he started to ask looking up at Malfoy.

Malfoy snatched the book out of his hand before he could finish.  Looking at him, Harry could see how tight Malfoy’s shoulders were.  His eyes were pinched. Every muscle that Malfoy possessed looked tight.  He was practically curling in on himself. Harry felt a twinge of  _ something _ in his chest.  It tingled and traveled out through his arms to his fingers.

“Don’t worry your pretty, little brain over it, Potter,” Malfoy snarked.  Harry felt a spark of relief that he stamped down on and refused to analyze. “It’s just a text.” 

Malfoy was moving away from him.  Down towards the dungeons. But Harry couldn’t let him go without knowing what was really going on.  He always had to know. Without thinking about it, Harry reached out and grabbed Malfoy by his arm. The words he wanted to ask stuck in his throat when he realized what he had done.  The last time Harry had reached out to Malfoy they had been surrounded by flames and death and Malfoy’s eyes flashed in his mind full of terror and desperation. Harry shook his head trying to dislodge the memories.

“What do you want, Potter?” Malfoy sounded resigned to whatever Harry wanted from him.  But he sounded far away from Harry. Distant in a way that had nothing to do with proximity.  Trying to come back to the present, Harry focused on Malfoy.

“ You should go to the hospital wing.  Your cheek is swollen.” Harry always had the need to take care of people. Even the ones he didn’t particularly like.  Hermione told him it probably had to do with the Dursley’s treatment of him. But Harry didn’t like to analyze himself, and he liked to talk about the Dursley’s even less.

“Well it’s not quite so bad as your ego. So I think I’ll survive.” Malfoy sniped at him.

Harry frowned.  He was just trying to help.  Malfoy was injured. Some coward had struck him unawares from behind.  And he was just trying to help. Why did Malfoy have to make things so difficult?  Why did he have to be so abrasive? Under the frustration, that idiotic relief at Malfoy acting like himself flared again.  Harry didn’t want to feel relieved at Malfoy being a prick to him. He didn’t want anything to do with Malfoy and his stupid, pretty self.  Harry’s grip tightened in shock. He did not think Malfoy was pretty. 

Did he?

Harry hastily let go of Malfoy who stumbled.

“You’re absolutely right,” Harry spat.  He didn’t care about Malfoy. He hated Malfoy. “I don’t know why I was worried. It’s just you.”

“Yes.” Harry saw Malfoy hitch his shoulders and start down the steps. “Just me.”

Harry refused to feel bad for him.  Malfoy would never admit to needing Harry’s help.  Harry was surprised that Malfoy hadn’t demanded to remain with the fiendfyre just to prove that he didn’t need Harry to save him.  Harry took a deep breath and mounted the stairs leading up to Gryffindor. He was thinking irrationally. He always seemed to when it came to Malfoy.  He couldn’t remember a time when Malfoy hadn’t been able to rile him. To get under his skin in a way no one else seemed able. 

Harry was still thinking about him when he entered Gryffindor tower.  Ginny walked up to him when she noticed his presence.

“Harry,” she said.

Harry fidgeted slightly.  Things hadn’t been exactly comfortable between them when he had decided he didn’t want to get back together.  “Ginny.”

“Look,” she sighed. “Can you please handle them?” She pointed rather dramatically to Ron and Hermione by the fireplace.  “They’ve been arguing since they got back. I don’t even know what about. But they’re getting pretty loud and they won’t listen to me.”

Harry nodded shortly and strode over to them. Not particularly wanting to get involved, he slumped down into one of the overstuffed armchairs and coughed to get their attention. “Have either of you noticed anything odd about Malfoy since we got back?”

“Oh, not this again.” Ron moaned.  Giving up on the fight, he flopped down onto the couch to the left of Harry.  Hermione sat down on it, as well. Her hair had frizzed even more in the heat of the fire.

“What do you mean not this again?” Harry demanded.

“Well, Harry,” Hermione said delicately. “You do have quite the track record of… erm…” She trailed off looking wary.

“Stalking him.” Ron threw out.

“I do not--” Harry sputtered indignantly.  “I do not stalk Malfoy!”

Ron looked at him incredulously.  “So that wasn’t you in sixth year, then?”  Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.

“I was trying to prove that he was up to something! And he was!” Harry said fervently. 

“Yes, alright,” Hermione said placatingly.  “He was. But he hasn’t done anything at all this term.  He’s been practically docile. I think he must be quite concerned with how he’ll survive once school is done.”

“Serves him right.” Ron muttered under his breath.

Not having heard Ron, Harry said, “He’ll just have to get a job like the rest of us.”

“Who do you think is going to hire a death eater, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry stopped short.  “He’s not a death eater, though.  Or, well, not anymore.”

Hermione lifted an eyebrow at him, a bit condescending.  “Harry, he has the dark mark. No one in their right mind will want to employ a Malfoy.  And after all these years do you really think he deserves anything else?”

Harry looked at Hermione in shock.  Did she really think-- Of course she did.  Malfoy treated her awfully and derided her every chance he got.  He swallowed. “I just think it’s unfair that since he’s going to have to go through all of that… I don’t know. He shouldn’t have to put up with being cursed in the corridors, too.”

“Someone cursed Malfoy?” Ron enthused.  He leaned forward on the couch towards Harry.  “What happened?” He had a soft smile on his face as he thought about Malfoy being punished.

Harry frowned, but told them.  “Someone hit him with a stinging hex from behind while he was leaving dinner.  He didn’t even react to it, until his bag was ripped, too. I think someone must’ve done that, too.  And all his stuff looks completely ruined.” Harry took a breath and feeling uncomfortable with the glee on Ron’s face continued.  “He refused to go to the hospital wing. And,” Harry shifted embarrassed, “he, uh, said some stuff to me. And I told him to piss off and left.”

“Someone hit him from behind?” Hermione sounded concerned, at least.

“Yeah.  I think it’s been happening a lot.  I don’t know.” Harry slumped in his chair and stared into the fire.

“Well,” Hermione said primly.  “While I do think Malfoy got off pretty easily for his past transgressions, cursing someone unawares is completely barbaric. Everyone should be given the right to defend themselves.

From what Harry had seen, Malfoy might not choose to defend himself.  He had reacted so minorly to the attack, that it was hard to believe that he felt any form of indignation at it.  Suddenly overcome with a sort of anxiousness, Harry felt the need to find Malfoy on the map.

“Uh…” Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione.  Hermione was still going on about dueling to Ron.  “I’m heading up. Tired.” He said to their inquiring looks.

“Good night, Harry.” Hermione said

“Night, mate.” Ron nodded at him as he walked by.  

In their dorm, Harry dug the map out of his trunk, laid down in bed, and closed his curtains.  He whispered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” And the map came to life before him.  Harry first checked the Slytherin common room. His eyes roved over the room, searching Malfoy’s dot out.  When he couldn’t find it, he switched over to the dorms but had no luck there, either.

Did Malfoy get caught by some others who were out for his blood.  Panicked, Harry searched the corridors down to the dungeons. Nothing.  Maybe he had decided to go to the hospital wing, after all. Harry hurriedly flipped over to the room and let out a breath of relief.  The tingling was back in his arms and hands. 

Why was he so worried about Malfoy?  He shouldn’t care so much about someone who had tried to make his life a living hell.  But he  _ had _ known Malfoy for as long as he’d known Ron and Hermione.  Longer even, if he counted their first meeting in Madam Malkin’s.  He  _ knew _ Malfoy, too.  That he likes blueberry muffins with the berries picked out.  The he eats more vegetables than meat in his meals. That he always gets in a strop if he can’t find his favorite eagle feather quill.  That his eyes are a harsh sleet, grey that can send shivers down Harry’s spine. That he-- Fuck, Harry thought staring at Malfoy’s dot laying in bed in the hospital wing.  Harry knows Malfoy. In ways that he never knew Ron or Hermione, or even Ginny.

Staring unseeingly at the map, Harry thinks that it makes sense in his own fucked up way of life.  Of course when he realizes he finally wants something for himself it would have to be something this complicated.  But god damn it if Harry wasn’t at least going to try. Even if it was Malfoy that he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's Harry's point of view on what he's seen. I'm still kind of floundering with this. I'm not sure where I'm taking it other than Draco and Harry getting together. Plot seems to be escaping me...


	4. Kismet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today would be for planning. Figuring out the best ways to protect Draco. From students and from himself. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be the first day of making Draco better, safer, and most importantly his.

kismet - fate; destiny

 

Harry hadn’t been able to sleep after his epiphany.  This attraction felt like it had come out of nowhere, but looking back on it… Malfoy seemed kind of inevitable.  They had been entwined in each other’s lives since they were children. The way they could influence each other was a bit absurd now that Harry thought about it.

Harry heaved a sigh.  The map, still open, was laying face down on his chest.  He knew Malfoy was still in the hospital wing. But he had been so adamant about not going when Harry suggested it.  Something must’ve happened after Harry left. He wondered how hurt Malfoy had to be for him to actually go see Madame Pomfrey.

Harry’s hand twitched fighting the urge to look at Malfoy’s name on the map again.  He felt restless, though. His legs kept twitching and he couldn’t get his mind to still long enough to fall asleep.  Casting a quick _tempus_ told Harry that it was almost six.  Too early, by far, but still a decent enough time to get up.  

Nodding to himself decisively, Harry sat up in bed and decided to go for a bit of a wander in the dungeons.  See if he could suss out any information from the corridor or the portraits as to what happened last night.

It took no time at all to get dressed and don the invisibility cloak, just to be safe.  He quietly exited the boys dorm being careful to not wake anyone, especially Ron. Walking through the empty common room was always a weird sensation to Harry. This was a room that was known for being loud and full of rowdy teenagers.  The fire still crackled in the fireplace invitingly. Harry ignored it and continued out into the chilled halls of the castle.

When Harry approached the stairs leading down to the kitchens and the dungeons, he saw that there were papers and books scattered all about.  He stepped forward and the crunch of glass bounced off the walls as he stood on a shattered inkwell. In all the chaos, Harry’s eyes honed in on the ratty textbook he had been holding last night.  This all had to be Malfoy’s, then. There was a whole roll of parchment completely soaked in ink. It all looked wrecked.

Seeing all of Malfoy’s things scattered and ruined in the corridor reminded Harry strongly of when he was younger.  Dudley and his gang had constantly ruined any effort Harry had put in at school. And it was already a minimal effort since the Dursleys hadn’t wanted him doing better than their precious Dudders.  Harry felt sadness creeping up his throat looking at the mess. He hadn’t fought a war for this. The same prejudice, just different.

He slowly went about picking it all up.  Bullying anyone was still just bullying regardless of motive.  Drawing his wand, Harry cast the strongest _reparo_ he could at the textbooks and watched as they only slightly improved.  All the missing covers remained missing. He cast _tergeo_ at the ruin parchment roll, too.  Most of the ink was being drawn out.  Harry had to be careful with this, though, or he’d end up siphoning away the words and not just the spilled ink.  Looking it over Harry noticed some spots that weren’t quite as clear as they should be, but it was definitely legible.  It was Malfoy’s transfiguration homework by the looks of it. He hadn’t finished. Malfoy was almost as voracious with his school work as Hermione, and it made Harry even more concerned about what happened last night. To pull Malfoy away from doing his school work.

Harry sighed and went to pile it all into Malfoy’s bag.  It was still ripped from the night before. Harry quickly mended it and tried to organize Malfoy’s possessions neatly into it.  He looked around a little lost. This didn’t make sense to Harry. Malfoy had been cleared of all charges. He was just being an idiot.  A dumb kid. They were all just kids dealt shit hands. And now Malfoy was being bullied.

Harry sighed again and with his and Malfoy’s bag on his shoulder started off towards the Great Hall.  There were only a few early risers in there at this time. Harry quickly strode over to Slytherin table and set the bag down where he had seen Malfoy sitting the night before.  He cast a quick little warding spell to deter anyone from messing with it until he got there.

With that done, Harry rushed back to Gryffindor table before anyone could question what he had been doing with Malfoy’s bag.  He slumped down in a spot facing the hall so he could watch for Malfoy and keep an eye on his stuff.

It felt like forever before he showed up.  Hermione and Ron had joined him not too long after he had sat down.  Ron looking groggy and like he’d much rather still be in bed. Hermione fully awake and already rattling on about the upcoming classes for the day.  Harry nodded along at the right places and slowly ate the food on his plate. And finally, _finally_ , Malfoy walked in.  

He looked fine to Harry, but he had just come from the hospital wing and Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t let him leave anything less than perfect.  He walked with his head down towards Slytherin table.

When he reached his normal spot, Harry saw him freeze. Malfoy stared at the bag for a few stressed beats of Harry’s heart before practically ripping it open to check inside.  Harry saw him release a huge breath when he realized all of his things were there and relatively unharmed. A small smile graced his face when he took out his transfiguration assignment and saw that it wasn’t completely ruined.  

Harry suppressed a smile of his own when Malfoy ignored breakfast to finish it.  Relieved now that he knew Malfoy was unharmed at the moment and at least a little bit happy, Harry tucked in properly to his meal.  He downed the last sip of his pumpkin juice and looked back over to Malfoy. He seemed to be finishing up his assignment with ever more flourishing swipes of his quill.  

Malfoy always was dramatic.  Even in doing his assignments, it seemed.  Harry took him in in a new light after last night.  Did he really find Malfoy attractive? Yes, Harry could admit that much to himself.  Malfoy was still a pointy bastard, his cheeks a little too sunken and dark bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. But Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t think Malfoy was one of the prettiest people at Hogwarts.  He tilted his head a bit taking Malfoy in from a different angle. Harry knew Malfoy. And Harry knew that in all their years of Hogwarts the closest Malfoy had come to a relationship was Pansy Parkinson fawning over him for the first six years of their education.  But she didn’t seem to be on speaking terms with the man now. So Harry didn’t think they were together. He hadn’t really thought they were ever together. Malfoy never really acknowledged her past a friendship.

But that didn’t exactly mean that he would want Harry.  No one ever seemed to want Harry. They wanted Harry Potter, the boy who lived.  Who didn’t actually exist. This construct that everyone invented in their heads.  Even Ginny wouldn’t accept certain things that Harry did, because in her head Harry Potter shouldn’t still be having nightmares almost a full year after he won the war.  Harry Potter wouldn’t struggle to remember he wasn’t a little boy trapped in a cupboard. Harry Potter wouldn’t be gay. Or more likely bisexual. Because yes, Malfoy was pretty.  But he definitely still thought Ginny was, too.

While he pondered this, Malfoy’s gaze met his.  Usually Harry was the one catching Malfoy glaring at him.  This reversal of roles gave Harry a bit of a start, but he met Malfoy’s eyes head on.  He was nothing if not foolishly brave.

Instead of a typical glare back, Malfoy seemed to be panicking.  He hastily grabbed his bag and quickly exited to the corridors.

“I’ll see you in transfiguration,” Harry said grabbing his own things and following.  Hermione and Ron said something back sounding confused, but Harry was already at the door.

Looking around, Harry saw no trace of Malfoy.  He quickly made his was outside of the transfiguration classroom and still found no sight of Malfoy.  Harry checked the map and found his dot in a hidden alcove a few feet back up the corridor.

Taking a bracing breath, Harry ducked under the tapestry and let it fall closed behind him.  He heard Malfoy let out a large choking breath while his eyes adjusted. When he could see, Harry’s heart stuttered a bit.  Malfoy looked paler than ever. A stark contrast to the purpling skin around his eyes. He had both hands pressed against the flagstone and every muscle was tense.  He looked like he was holding himself together with nothing but sheer will.

Harry was all too familiar with the clutching hands of panic trying to claw its way out of you.  As he watched an embarrassed flush worked its way up onto Malfoy’s cheeks. Malfoy stood up a bit straighter.  Shouldering the weight pushing his spine to protect himself again. His hands were still flat against the wall.  Harry wondered if that actually helped. He had just powered through his own panic the only way he knew how. Ignoring it until it went away.  Pretending he was fine. Pretending he was Harry Potter and not just Harry.

Harry traced his figure with his eyes.  Malfoy doesn’t deserve to suffer anymore than he has.  Anymore than they all have. Malfoy opened his mouth, probably to tell Harry to bugger off, but no noise came out.  Harry decided right there that this was it. This man in front of Harry, this stupidly attractive man was going to be Harry’s future.  Fuck whatever everyone else, thought. He wanted Draco Malfoy, and he wanted to help him.

Harry did, after all, have a helping people thing.  His friends constantly told him so. Harry nodded decisively and wanting to spare Malfoy anymore embarrassment by Harry’s hand he ducked back out and made his way to transfiguration.

Today would be for planning.  Figuring out the best ways to protect Draco.  From students and from himself. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be the first day of making Draco better, safer, and most importantly his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I really struggled with this chapter. I've kind of stagnated and had to push through. BUT!!! But now I kind of have an idea of where I'm actually going with this. Well, at least a little bit anyway. No big promises from me, that's how I stopped writing in the first place.


	5. Mercurial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter shrugged again. He was looking around the classroom in obvious discomfort. “You and me,” Potter continued. “We’re the same.”

Mercurial - changeable; volatile; fickle; flighty; erratic; animated; lively; quick-witted

 

Draco wasn’t sure what was going on.  It had been a few days since Potter had discovered him in that hidden alcove, and no matter how much Draco tried to avoid him Potter seemed to be everywhere.  Ten paces ahead or behind Draco at all times. 

He wasn’t sure what Potter was waiting for exactly.  The optimum time to strike? Having defeated the Dark Lord, Draco was pretty sure that Potter could strike whenever he wanted and still succeed.  It wasn’t like Draco would fight back, anyway. Not like he  _ could. _

He was getting twitchy and paranoid.  And he didn’t even have anyone to talk to about it.  Potter was slowly driving him crazy. Draco clutched the strap of his bag and hitched it higher on his shoulder as he rounded the corner to potions.  Potter was already in the hallway waiting. His eyes tracked Draco as he came to a stop at the opposite wall a decent distance away. Draco refused to look at him.

This was absurd.  He could feel Potter’s stare on him.  Potter cleared his throat and Draco flinched as the silence broke.  Head still down, Draco tried to see Potter out of the side of his eye.  They were both extremely early for class. Draco had hoped to avoid Potter by simply not showing up to breakfast.  If he wasn’t where he should be Potter couldn’t follow him. He hadn’t accounted for Potter to beat him at his own game.  He should’ve.

He was just staring at Draco.  Almost glaring, really. Draco could feel his shoulders tightening and curling up to protect himself against the attention.  He had wanted it for so long, but not now. Not when it could ruin everything.

“Alright, Malfoy?” Potter asked.

Draco swallowed and cleared his throat. Still refusing to look up, he nodded. “Alright.”

Potter let out a blustery sigh sounding frustrated. Draco clenched his fists around his bag to hide his sudden nerves.  It was fine. Potter wouldn’t do anything. He was  _ noble _ .  A Gryffindor through and through.  Draco was fine. 

Draco’s head snapped up at the sound of footsteps approaching him.  Potter was heading towards him with his hand outstretched. And just like that, Draco was in a burning room.  The acrid smell of smoke filled his head. Flames. Burning flesh. The scent of his own sweat. And Potter as they flew, defying death.  He could feel his breaths being punched out of his lungs. His hands were shaking. He wouldn’t be able to grab Potter. He would die. The smoke was clawing at his throat.  Choking off his breath. He was alone. 

“Malfoy!” That was Potter’s voice. Would he still save Draco? Could he even reach him? “Draco!” That level of familiarity shook him back to the present.  No one but his Mother called him Draco anymore. 

His vision was blurred.  He felt like he was swimming through treacle.  He was dizzy and couldn’t focus. Draco tried to focus on the color green.  The warm, concerned green, green eyes in front of him. “C’mon Draco. Talk to me here.”  Potter said. “Breath with me.” 

Potter pried one of his hand off of the strap of his bag and placed it flat against his chest. Draco could feel as Potter dragged a deep breath in and the released it just as slow.  “There you go.” Draco followed suit. 

When he didn’t feel quite so much like he was choking on his own breath, Draco suddenly realized their position.  He was backed against the wall. Potter practically surrounded him. Curved protectively over Draco’s entire body.  His left hand was trapped beneath both of Potter’s against Potter’s chest. Draco could feel his heartbeat. Steady, just like Potter himself.  

Heat was rising in Draco’s cheeks and he looked down and away.  Subconsciously, he was still following along to the pace of Potter’s breath.  Which is why he noticed immediately when it froze for a second. Draco tensed, too.  Footsteps were echoing of the walls down to them.

Potter took a deep breath and let it out in another sigh.  Bracing himself this time. “Okay,” he said. “Come on.” Potter twisted his right hand around Draco’s wrist.  Draco could feel him covering part of the mark. The ugly stain on his skin. Potter levered himself up from his squat and pulled Draco up with him.  Keeping a hold on Draco, Potter turned away from the approaching students and tugged Draco along behind him.

Draco didn’t know where they were going.  But he wasn’t really in any position to argue or fight.  Up ahead, a door flew open as Potter approached. He hauled Draco into the abandoned classroom and kicked the door shut behind them.  

Draco stood there shifting awkwardly as Potter straddled a stool.  He leaned forward with his weight on his hands pressed on the stool between his spread legs. “So…” Potter said, leadingly.

“So.” Draco refused to look at him.  How utterly mortifying. To break down in front of Potter of all people.  Just because he was reaching out towards Draco. How destroying. The heat was still climbing his neck and face.  It was causing tears to prick in Draco’s eyes. He refused, absolutely  _ refused,  _ to cry in front of Potter.

“Look, Mal-- Draco, you’ve obviously got a lot of, uh, things going on right now.  I just want you to know, that if you, er, wanted to,” Potter coughed seemingly embarrassed, “talk I’m sure I know a little bit of what you’re going through.”

Draco felt a flash of irritation.  Potter had no idea what he was going through.  Draco was reviled in all of wizarding England. He was known wherever he went as Death Eater scum. Spat on and belittled and attacked.  Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep all of that inside.

He took a sharp, bracing breath and said, “Potter, I appreciate what you did just now.  Merlin knows you’ve seen at my worst time and again, but I really don’t think you’re the best person for me to talk to.  There is too much and not enough for us to discuss things civilly.” Draco thought that was polite enough. He hadn’t even insulted Potter for insinuating that he could understand.

Potter squinted at him with pursed lips.  “Yeah, right. I have no idea what you’re like.” He said scathingly.  He pushed back from his position on the stool. “Draco--”

“Malfoy,” Draco intoned.  The familiarity was not helping.

Potter cut him an unimpressed look. “ _ Draco _ , I’ve known you for eight years.  I know exactly what’s between us and,” he shrugged, “the past is the past.  We all fought a war, but it’s over now. We need to move on. Hermione has been badgering me for ages to let the past rest.” Potter quirked a smile. “She’s been saying that for about six years.  And I’ve finally been, well, trying to. You are one of those things I need to let rest. Yes, we hated each other for si-- seven years, but we’re not the same people anymore. Obviously.”

Potter shrugged again.  He was looking around the classroom in obvious discomfort.  “You and me,” Potter continued. “We’re the same.”

That stoked Draco’s ire.   _ How in the world were they the same? _ They were nothing alike. Nothing.  “No,” Draco snapped against his better judgement. “You have no idea.  No clue what it’s like to be regarded with nothing but suspicion and hatred by those who surround you.  Completely outnumbered and  _ helpless _ .” Draco spat the last word in disgust.  The color in his cheeks indicative of anger replacing the shame and embarrassment. He could see a flush rising high on Potter’s cheeks.  “What would you, the Golden Boy, know of being shunned? How could you possibly understand what it’s like to--”

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy!” Harry interrupted.  “Did you go to a different school during second year or fourth year or even fifth year!  You’re so right. I have no idea what it’s like for the whole school to hate me. I had the whole of England, too. Gee, I wonder what it would be like to have the whole school think I’m the heir of Slytherin.  I just can’t imagine what it would feel like to turn every corner and see my classmates wearing badges that say Potter Stinks. Just how  _ would _ it feel to have The Daily Prophet writing articles calling me mad and saying I should be institutionalized?  Or! Or! How would it feel to be put on trial in front of the entire Wizengamot for defending myself against dementors that the fucking Ministry sent after me? I have no idea, Malfoy.  Why don’t you tell me? How would 12 year old you have handled that? Because, obviously, I have no god damn clue.” Potter was panting by the end of his tirade. His eyes were flashing furiously and the color spots on his cheeks contrasted sharply with his dark hair curling around his face.

Draco felt as if his blood had frozen in his veins.  His blood had drained from his face. His feet and hands tingled as he fought the need to run.  How could he be so stupid as to forget? The drag of air into his lungs felt huge. His vision was tunneling in on Potter.  The classroom was blurring.

“Fuck. Shit.” Potter was coming towards him again. “Okay, Draco.  Come on.” Potter placed Draco’s hand back over his chest. Surrounded by both of his hands.  He took those same deep breaths as before. “Breathe with me, Draco.” 

Draco closed his eyes to block everything out. Potter’s heartbeat was more rapid now.  But the breaths were just as steadying. “I’m sorry,” Draco breathed.

Draco felt Potter’s shoulder contract in a shrug.  “I guess I get it. It seems big to me, but you weren’t the one living it.  Easier to forget.”

“No,” Draco choked out.  He forced himself to open his eyes and meet Potter’s gaze.  “I’m sorry.”

The weight in those words brought Potter up short. He swallowed, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.  

“Well,” he took a breath.  “I mean, I forgive you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have testified.  But, uh, thanks for y’know saying it.”

“Just because you didn’t think I deserved to be in Azkaban, didn’t mean you had to forgive me.”

“Yeah, but I did.  I do.” His hand squeezed Draco’s unconsciously.  “I’m serious if you want to, you know, talk. You seem to be on your own a lot this year.  And like I said, the war’s over. I think it’s time we move forward. Starting with you and me.  Otherwise who knows how short it will be before another war based on hatred?”

“Big thoughts for a Gryffindor.” Draco grimaced.  He never could hold his tongue. But Potter just flashed him a small smile.

“It happens sometimes.” Potter said self-deprecatingly.  

“The other Slytherins know better to interact with me.” Draco admitted quietly.

“Well,” Potter said loudly in the quiet room.  “Lucky for you, I never know better.”

Draco huffed out a surprised laugh. “What?”

Potter, realizing he had pronounced himself an idiot, tried to backtrack. “I mean, I always take the path of most resistance.  The challenge. Us Gryffindors like a challenge.”

“Okay, Potter, whatever you say.”  Draco tugged his hand away from Potter’s chest.

Potter’s hand fell to swing by his sides. “Harry.”

Draco chewed his lip uneasily. “Harry,” he nodded. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Well,” Harry said, “we have time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys... first of all I'm moving so it might be more than a hot second until I update. Second of all, I have this really beautiful moment written for like right before Harry and Draco get together. But I can't use it yet, because we're not there yet. It's just sitting in the word document gathering dust. And every time I read it, I'm like god damn the emotions I feel. My bois comforting each other and loving and healing. GOD I need to get to that point. This chapter was a toughie, 'cause I just kept wanting to write the moment mentioned above. But I banged it out, y'all.


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